She studied the small speck of light in the far corner of the holo display, the one that represented the wormhole to Refuge. Five days away at current speeds. Five long days.
She sighed. For this to work, the Dominion had to start shooting their missiles, using up what was in their on-board magazines. Time to start…
Chapter 54
On the H.M.S. New Zealand,
Searching for the Dominion supply train
“Damn it, where are they?” Captain Grey muttered. They were now quietly following the Dominion fleet as it pursued the Home Fleet and Space Station Atlas. Each ship of the Coldstream Guards was running as stealthily as possible, but their passive sensors were probing desperately, trying to locate the Dominion supply ships that were the life blood of the Dominion force.
The problem was they could be anywhere. They could just run immediately behind the attack fleet, or above it, below it or on either side. And they would be trying to run quietly, not wanting to attract the rude attention of a Victorian force bent on mischief. Grey’s single Battle Group couldn’t cover everywhere at once, certainly not while using only passive sensors.
No, unless they got really lucky and tripped over the Dominion supply ships, they would have to sit and wait until some frigate or destroyer came running back to refill their magazines.
“Admiral Mello, sensors picking up a line of ships closing into missile range. Dead ahead. They must have been powered down, Sir, because they just popped up out of nowhere.”
“Size?”
“I count fifteen at least. They are blasting ECM, so exact count is uncertain.”
“Type?”
“We only had a glimpse before the ECM kicked in, but I read three battleships, at least four cruisers and a mix of destroyers and frigates. It looks like they’re making a stand, Sir,” the Sensors Officer added helpfully.
“Then you are a fool and we are fortunate that I am in command, not you,” Mello replied acidly. “We know the Vickies lost two of their three battleships, so there is no way they can have three battleships waiting for us. Also, it is unlikely that they would make a stand with only fifteen ships against our larger task force. No, what you see in front of you is a line of drones masquerading as war ships, with perhaps a couple of warships mixed in to give the charade additional credibility. They might have some missile pods, but once they have exhausted their missiles, they will be worthless junk.
“So,” he said, raising his voice for the entire bridge crew to hear, “we will continue and roll over them. We must not give them time! Time is the enemy! Commander Pattin, bring the frigates and destroyers on line. All ships to activate their anti-missile defenses.”
And the Dominion Fleet rushed forward to meet the first line of the Victorian defense.
“Bugger me blue, there’s a lot of them!” the Tactical Officer on H.M.S. Melbourne whispered. The destroyer was hovering four hundred miles behind the line of missile pods, watching through the reconnaissance drones spaced between the pods. Not far away was the H.M.S. Dundee, another destroyer from the Black Watch Battle Group. Their job was to wait for the Dominion ships to close in, then flush the missile pods…and run like hell. “Don’t worry about hitting anything,” Captain Hamid had told them. “Just make them shoot back and waste missiles.”
“Do you have range yet?” the captain of the Melbourne asked impatiently. The Tactical Officer tried to concentrate on his instruments. He was having trouble concentrating; there were so many Dominion ships coming at them.
“Ten seconds!” His voice squeaked. “Five…two, one. In range. They’re now in range. Now.” He couldn’t stop babbling.
His captain looked at him, a smirk pulling at his mouth. “Okay, George, we got it. Fire your missiles, then push the recon drones forward so we can see what’s happening.”
The Tac Officer pushed a button. Four hundred miles in front of them the twenty missile pods each fired sixteen short range missiles in sprint mode. Each pod had been assigned two targets. A moment later the recon drones flared to life and sped after them, active sensors reaching out to find the enemy.
“And activate the antimatter mines,” the captain ordered. Then, satisfied that was done, he ordered: “Let’s get out of here. Tell the Dundee we are pulling back.”
The Dominion had learned the hard way that the Victorians had superior missile systems. Their response had been to build ships dedicated to nothing but antimissile defense. They called them “Hedgehogs.” Each Hedgehog was capable of simultaneously tracking and destroying twenty incoming missiles, and as each was destroyed, the Hedgehog automatically queued up another one. It held a magazine of five hundred short range “buckshot” missiles, had sixty high speed Gatling guns that shot one thousand rounds of spent Ziridium per minute, and forty one-inch lasers.
Mello had ten Hedgehogs in his Attack Force, and all of them were now in the front line to protect his frigates and destroyers.
Of the three hundred and twenty missiles fired by the Victorian missile pods, twenty three reached their targets.
“Look for ships moving away!” Mello thundered. “There should be control ships out there trying to escape.”
“Two ships,” the Sensors Officer confirmed. “Turning and accelerating rapidly.”
“All line ships to fire. I want them dead,” Mello said.
And a minute later, they were. Every Dominion destroyer and frigate in the front line flushed its missiles at them in an orgy of revenge. The fleeing Victorians were overwhelmed.
“That is the way you meet the enemy,” Mello said in satisfaction. Behind him, Commander Pattin grimaced. The exchange had been even: as the fleet surged onward, it left behind two broken hulks and had another damaged destroyer struggling to keep up.
Several minutes later they hit the antimatter mines, took damage to another ship, and continued in pursuit of the Victorians.
Aboard the H.M.S. Lionheart, Admiral Douthat watched the holo display intently. She cursed silently as the Dundee and Melbourne icons flashed Code Omega, then watched the DUC force close to where the anti-matter mines were. The explosion of the mines distorted the senor display. It took a minute or so for the display to clear.
“Mickey,” she asked the Sensors Officer. “When they hit the mines, did they turn?”
“Yes, Admiral. They turned up, shot out the rest of the mines, then dropped down and resumed course.”
Douthat nodded. “Merlin! Take a note. When confronted with mines, the Dominion fleet turned up. Monitor similar incidents and watch for a pattern.”
Chapter 55
H.M.S. New Zealand, hunting for supply ships behind the Dominion fleet
Captain Julie Grey’s Battle Group coasted ghostlike behind the Dominions, desperately trying to locate the Dominion supply ships. People spoke in whispers and subconsciously tried not to make noise. They knew no one could possibly hear them, but they couldn’t help themselves; they’re survival depended on them not being detected.
Emily knew the mission poised on the razor edge of chance. If they located the Dominion supply ships before they themselves were discovered, they would attack and leave the Dominion attack fleet with empty magazines and no choice but to retreat. But if the Ducks discovered them hiding, then they would have to run or fight for their lives. Either way, it would soon be ship against ship, each side trying to annihilate the other, killing men and women they did not know and would never see.
Emily had to marvel at the terrible beauty of it.
“Penny for your thoughts?” It was Captain Grey, sipping a mug of tea, looking tired.
Emily smiled. “I was just thinking how this little skirmish might determine the entire outcome of the battle, or the fate of Victoria, all of it.” She frowned. “Part of me is horrified at the risk, part of me can’t wait to see how it comes out.”
Grey smiled wanly. “The combat leader’s dark little secret. Welcome to the world of the professional soldier, Emily.”
For hours, Admiral Doutha
t harassed the Dominion’s right flank, which had the greatest concentration of destroyers and frigates. She dropped in mines, missile pods and used her own destroyers for sudden slashing attacks.
The Dominion responded with a torrent of missiles, shooting at anything within range. Finally, two of the Dominion frigates — the ships with the smallest magazine capacity — signaled Admiral Mello’s flagship.
“Admiral, two of the frigates request permission to fall back in order to rearm with missiles from the colliers.”
Admiral Mello looked up from the holo display, clearly preoccupied. “What?”
“Two of the frigates have run dry, sir. They want permission to go to the back of the fleet to rearm with the colliers.”
Mello nodded his assent and turned back to the holo display. No one saw his smile.
On the H.M.S. New Zealand, Alex Rudd was monitoring both the tactical display and the sensors, ignoring the angry glare of the Sensors’ Officer.
“Tallyho,” Rudd said softly. “Two Duck frigates coming in past reconnaissance drone Number Seven.
“Fuel status on Number Seven?” Captain Grey asked.
“More than half, Ma-am. She’s good for up to eight hours.”
“Okay, once the DUC go past her, put her in behind them, say, oh, three hundred miles. Passive sensors only, and video. Bring her up to match speed slowly, Alex, then kill the propulsion and let her coast behind them. I do not want to spook our feathered friends.”
The reconnaissance drone followed the two Dominion war ships for another ninety minutes, reporting back that they finally stopped and were joined by three other ships. The three new ships showed only low propulsion signatures. No radio signals were detected.
“There they are,” Grey breathed reverently. She turned to Emily. “You’re plan is working, Lieutenant.”
Emily frowned. Bogey One had something like eighty five ships, or close to four Victorian Battle Groups. A Victorian force that large would have had at least six supply ships, and maybe as many as eight.
“There should be more supply ships than this, Captain,” she said. There should be another three at least, maybe five.”
“You may be right, Emily, but I’ll take what I can get.” Grey raised her voice. “Merlin!”
The ship’s computer responded immediately. “Yes, Captain Grey?”
“We’re attacking. Change to Max.”
The bridge crew exchanged apprehensive glances.
There was a pause, then the ship’s computer came back, but its voice was stronger, rougher. “Orders? Who shall I attack?”
Emily couldn’t explain how, but the “Max” persona reeked of restrained violence. Max had been the brainchild of the Fleet’s psychological warfare experts, who had tweaked the software so that Max would default to the most aggressive option whenever it had to make a tactical decision. The shrinks also figured that if the ship’s computer sounded more like a blood thirsty warrior, it would imbue a more aggressive spirit into the ship’s deck crew, including the captain. Fleet war games had confirmed this, although dissenting Fleet psychologists had noted that one unforeseen side effect was that sometimes the captains using Max fought long after they should have cut and run, saving their ships to fight on more advantageous terms another day. The net result was that ships using Max inflicted more damage on the enemy, but died at a higher rate as well.
Gradually an informal protocol had developed: Captains used Max only in situations where they thought they might have to fight to the death, and were determined to do as much damage as they could before they were killed.
If Emily had had any doubts about how desperate their mission was, they were instantly dispelled.
Powered down, as stealthy as they could be, the Coldstream Guards coasted in on their targets. The Number Seven reconnaissance drone kept up its visual record, and they watched as the first of the Dominion frigates sided up to a collier, followed shortly by the second.
“Solid fix for the lasers, Captain. Just reaching outer edge of missile range now,” Emily reported.
Grey shook her head. “We may only have one chance, so let’s wait until we’re closer. Max, C2C all members of the Battle Group. I will commence firing for the entire Group from the New Zealand. No one is to fire on their own.”
Yes, Captain. Preparing for the attack.”
Emily hid a smirk; Max always sounded like a badly written video game. But looking around the bridge, she had to admit that Max’s melodramatic presentation did have an impact on the crew. They looked grimly determined to wage war.
The Battle Group coasted onward. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen.
“Captain, we are now in the Yellow Zone,” Chief Gibson said, voice rising a bit. The Yellow Zone was where the enemy ship had a fifty percent chance of detecting them on passive sensors. The Red Zone was where the probability rose to ninety percent.
Emily sat down and buckled her battle harness. She licked suddenly dry lips.
“Prepare to fi-” Captain Grey began.
She never finished.
The H.M.S. New Zealand, all 150,000 tons of her, violently heaved up and down like a feather in an unexpected gust of wind. Everything that was not secured went flying through the air — coffee mugs, papers, com slates, chairs and people — and smashed into the ceiling, clung there for a fraction of a second, then smashed hard onto the deck.
Then the noise came, the groaning, screeching, violated shriek of steel walls and decking as they shook and twisted and then ruptured as the force of a dozen laser strikes raped the New Zealand from stem to stern.
And then came the anguished screams of the injured and the roaring of precious air venting into space.
Emily, saved by her battle harness, sat upright in her chair, feeling like Alice in Wonderland as she watched the world go crazy. Papers and objects and people flew past her. Someone’s foot kicked her in the head as they flew by, and a coffee cup sailed by still upright, not spilling a drop, until it shattered against the bulkhead. Immediately in front of her, she watched as Captain Grey went straight up and cracked viciously into the ceiling, seemed to float there for a moment, then smashed into the floor. Blood welled from her eyes and ears.
With a groan, the ship settled.
Emily started to unbuckle, thought better of it and tilted her head up. “Max! Max, defenses free! And engage auto-repairs of all hull leaks. Seal all compartments.” She twisted around, trying to find Alex Rudd, but couldn’t see him. She was on her own.
From across the smoke filled, blood splattered bridge, Chief Gibson smiled and gave her a thumbs up. She could have kissed him.
“Max, enlarge holo display and show the source of whatever the hell it was that hit us.” The display obediently grew larger. The Dominion colliers were still there, but the two frigates were moving away from them, accelerating rapidly, anxious to get away from the obvious target the colliers presented. “Max where are the ships that shot us, dammit?”
Four red circles appeared and began to blink. They were above the Coldstream Guard’s plane of advance, about halfway between the New Zealand and the three Dominion colliers. “Tactical, get a lock on those ships! Max, status report.”
“ Destroyer South Wales, Code Omega. Destroyers Swansea and Repulse, damaged but operable; Cruiser Emerald Isle damaged but operable. Cruiser New Zealand damaged but operable.” The phrase “damaged but operable” unfortunately covered a lot of ground, from minor damage to the hull plating to loss of most of the crew.
“Got a lock on the shooters, Lieutenant,” Chief Gibson said calmly. “Looks like four large cruisers. Computer ‘s guessing three beamers and a missile cruiser. Looks like they all fired their lasers and are recharging.”
“Sweet Gods of Our Mothers, let’s not wait!” Emily said. Hadn’t she heard that the Dominion beamers had an entire engine array dedicated just to recharging their lasers? “Max, all available weapons to fire on the four cruisers. Now! Now! Now!” She motioned to Gibson. “Find the damn colliers
before they get away. Pilot, take us down one hundred miles, then resume plane of advance. Head right for the colliers. Tactical.” Chief Friedman looked at her, face pale with shock, eyes too bright. Don’t fold on me now, she thought desperately. “Chief, as soon as we find the colliers again, lock on the nearest one with all lasers, then take the next one with missiles. Got it?” He nodded jerkily, but turned to obey.
In the midst of this she became aware that Captain Grey was on her knees, holding onto the captain’s chair for support. Blood flowed freely from a head wound and covered her face. Where she touched the chair, she left a bloody handprint. Emily raced forward to steady her. With Chief Gibson’s help, she put Grey into the captain’s chair.
“You!” she said to a young rating named Partridge. “Call for a medic!”
“Emily.” Grey clutched weakly at her arm. “Move over, I need to see the holo.” Her voice was a slurred whisper. Emily dutifully stepped aside and Captain Grey peered myopically at the holo display of the battle.
Grey frowned, squinted and shook her head. “Can’t see,” she murmured in frustration.
Emily stripped off her uniform blouse and used it to wipe the blood from Grey’s eyes and face. Grey blinked several times and peered at the display, but shook her head again. “Blurry…eyes.” She tightened her grip on Emily’s arm. “Tell me what’s happening!”
Meanwhile a flurry of laser shots had lanced out at the still recharging Dominion cruisers, followed by a ragged volley of over one hundred and fifty missiles. While most ships managed to flush their missile tubes, the damaged ships were lucky to shoot half of their compliment of missiles. The New Zealand, with twenty two tubes, only managed to shoot nine.
“We’ve been ambushed by four Dominion ships, probably cruisers,” Emily told her. “We lost one ship and several others are damaged. We are trying to shoot the Dominion ships before they recycle their lasers.”
“Supply ships? Where…” Grey paused, panting for breath. Her skin had a sickly greyish hue and she was covered with sweat.
Alarm of War v-1 Page 25